Homer Stalks The Chef
by Dan Amsterdam The Second
Summary: Indeed, Homer performs stalkery upon The Chef
1. The

_None of the characters, locations and misc. featured herein this tale belong to that of this author._

The night had come again, bringing with it the same dreary atmosphere as had been the night before. Within his mansion, a relatively known man some refered to as The Chef prepared to retire to his trusted armchair. As the room stood enveloped in pitch blackness, The Chef saw fit to leave it as it were. Whatever the case, this room would become illuminated with every flash of the occasional lightning. Despite the evening's weather upheavel, there was only factor that would decide whether The Chef would have a calming evening. For an increasing many nights a mysterious man had been appearing on the outskirts of The Chef's property, staring somewhat soullessly towards his mansion and those who dwelled inside. This had concerned The Chef enough to employ several bodyguards to watch inside his home throughout the uncertain nights. While finding brief reassurance in the complete darkness, one flash of lightning would reveal his greatest fear: the stalker had tonight returned. The obese figure stood drenched in front of the forest adjecent to The Chef's garden, beads of rain dripping from the few remaining hairs on his scalp. A grotesque tongue presented itself from his unsanitary mouth and licked the lips around his barely-kempt beard. Darkness soon resumed around the mansion. Upon a proceeding flash, the man had astrayed from his position, seeming to have disappeared entirely from the premises. This did not immediately calm The Chef's nerves, for a slight creek could be heard from the easternmost room of the mansion. Absolute silence resumed for a matter of minutes. Following immediately was a rather loud and violent crack. The Chef knew this sound as the indicating signal of a neck that had been snapped. The sound of thud furthermore confirmed The Chef's suspicions. Faint footsteps dimly echoed across the hallway. Another neck heard snapped, another collapse of whom could only be the bodyguards. The footsteps had reached the door to the dormitory to which The Chef remained, too petrified with terror to leave his armchair. Despite this door to have been put on watch by the bodyguard Gargon, The Chef could not succumb to calmness. Truly, Gargon was to no avail as his brief muffled cries were heard which were then followed up with yet one more neck snapped and the final collapse of Gargon. The door creek open. If as almost by perfect timing, another flash of lightning would reveal that the intruder was none other than the dreaded stalker of many a night. As the revealing light faded from view, the stalker no more need for his spider-like stealth and clomped loudly around The Chef's dormitory, slowly circling around his armchair. The man had stopped mere inches away from where The Chef lay. It was then, that the flicker of a flashlight would reveal the stranger's ghastly visage. The horrid man's surly jaw opened to speak. "You will belong to me now..."


	2. Identity

Per his unnerving promise, the deranged man abducted The Chef, locking him inside a station wagon smelling faint of mildew. The windows all had been painted black so The Chef could tell not where he would be taken. Yet without any benefit of sight, the stalker had seemed to arrive to his desired destination. Brought back to the darkened outside, The Chef was dragged into a large forbidding compound. Hallways The Chef was drug through, along them rows and rows of holding cells, suggesting this was an abandoned prison or an asylum he had been brought to. One cell in particular the stranger stopped near and dragged The Chef into. Of most noticeable interest to this particular cell were a duo of razor-sharp meat hooks dangling from the ceiling. "In due time, our world will be presented your ultimate potential." The twisted man would bring The Chef back onto the feet he had used not for one hour and a half, only to hoist him off of the floor. He would be turned away from the shining reflections upon the intimidating hooks and recieve another glimpse upon the dimly lit hallway. If The Chef could take solace in this sight, it was visciously brought short by a massively-sharp pain underneath the arms. The meat hooks had been driven into his limbs; The Chef now hung impaled under the asylum roof. His screams of agony were enough to almost deafen himself, wailing too with the slightest hope that someone, anyone, would hear him out and come to his aid. Instead the stranger would let go of his body, leaving him entirely to the mercy of the hooks. "Sleep now, my upcoming success, for in the coming days we will bring to the world a brilliant ecstacy." With that, the demented man stepped out from what was now to be The Chef's cell and slammed its door shut with a heavy clang. Given the hooks bored through The Chef's shoulders, there would be no easy sleep for him tonight. At this point The Chef's robust weight began to chafe with the load-bearing of the twin hooks, and the edges of the blades dug ever slightly through his arms. The pain, it would become far too much for The Chef to withstand, and thus he would pass out from its ever-increasing stress. The Chef was at rest, lying in wait for whatever the stalker's twisted revolution would entail.


	3. Of The

One week trapped within a nightmarish confinement. One week of naught but to hang, to be fed, to sleep, if only barely. The feeding came in heavy intervals, in unseemly large doses. As such, The Chef had accumulated vast amounts of weight to his once-homely frame. Flabs and folds of skins decorated his clothing-bereth figure, in which the stranger saw fit to leave him in a perpetual state of disrobe. The hooks that had pained him so greatly he had become numb to, in fact he almost felt as if skin was beginning to grow around the blades. It was one of the few things The Chef could think again during this long monotomous entrapment. It was by this time that The Chef almost wished that there was more to this plan of the madman captor's. Some to his pleasant surprise, and some to his absolute horror, the next phase to this bizarre plan would begin on this day. The squeaking of rusted wheels were heard in the hallway slowly leading up to his cell. The kidnapper had returned approximately one half-hour following his feeding of The Chef, this time with a highly peculiar contrapion resembling a vacuum cleaner. The stranger lifted the vacuum tube up, revealing a series of series of razorblades taped to the end. Utter shock engulped The Chef's face, replaced almost instantly with the expression of pain as the tube was rammed right into the side of his torso. "The magnum opus has come to fruitation." declared the ever-increasing madman. "Ravioli." With that, he activated his mechanism, siphoning the contents from within The Chef's innards. Once more The Chef was put into the experience of a pain even greater than he could have ever fantomed. For five minutes he was subjected to the insidious device, taking enough out of him to fill one biohazard waste bag. Upon the ending of this operation, the lunatic simply closed over The Chef's new gash by pulling one of his fat rolls over it. His task completed, the stranger left once more. The only thing upon The chef's mind was Whether he would pass out as a result of this new pain. He would be denied this solitude.


	4. True

The thirty-fourth day, if The Chef was keeping count correctly, would prove to be more atypical than the majority of his days within capture. On this rare occasion, The Chef would be unshackled from his bondage and be brought into the outside world, however briefly. He was taken into the kidnappers' vehicle again to be delivered into a new platitude of circumstances. This particular event he would be denied the sight, as he was thrown into a large wheeled box. The sounds, however would strike a chord as the his new whereabouts. Altough this was one of the such places The Chef had hoped to never returned, nonetheless he found himself back in the midst of The Krusty The Klown Show. "Hey hey kids! Hoo-hoo-hoo-wah-hah!" The screams of the children bathed the pale-faced gag-monger in great assurance. "This is gonna be one heckuva special show, for today, we're gonna...what's that?...eat..ravioli?!" As if on cue, The Chef could feel himself being transported onto the center stage. "You stand correct, Mr. The Klown, for tonoon shall the children feast." "Hmmm...well okay, what the hell, alright kiddos, get ready to fill your yaps with Chef Homer's Special Ravioli Mash-Munch!" With another string of the questionable clown's hideous laughter, the signal was made to present the children with this ravioli creation of the psychopath that went apparently by the name of Homer. It was not long before the ambience was overtaken by the sounds of lips smacking, foodstuffs chewed between teeth, belches and gulps. These noises were all the more heart-wretching to The Chef, knowing that he held a share of responsibility for the nightmares that were unfolding from outside his container, and what nightmares would follow if this were allowed to continue. All this time The Chef had wanted to scream, to break through this facade, but was unable to for his vocal chords had been rendered mostly-destroyed from a month of painful bout after painful bout. This current torment he was forced to witness was allowed to go on for a great ten minutes when mercifully a commercial break was announced. Naturally this was the cue for Homer to take leave and return The Chef to his cell. For once, The Chef was actually looking forward to the unnerving silence of Homer's prison.


	5. Mastermind

It was the seventy-sixth day, if The Chef was not mistaken, altough by this time he had wondered as to why he still bothered on trying to keep track when his hopes of ever leaving this prison were near the brink of diminishment. Per the usual routine, footsteps would be heard throughout the hallway leading to his cell. To his bewilderment, these footsteps were of a different noise and pace to Homer's maddening clomps. The peculiar footsteps stopped near The Chef's door. Normally The Chef would see Homer's eyes leering with delerium from the slot on the door. This time the visit would be from two familiar-looking children. "So The Chef has indeed been taken." said the sea mine-haired child in the dress. "What's happening, man?" said her brush- haired compatriot. The girl child continued, "Our father dearest must be thwarted of this dire scheme and therefore shall you now be granted release." The Chef had gone pale in shock of these revelations, not only of the idea that a loathsome creature such as Homer would be allowed offspring, but that said offspring could develop even an inkling of a conscience. "Lis, I think I'm getting hungry again." "Halt, Bartholomew, such cravings must remain in subside." "C'mon Chef, just one nibble and we'll be good." "Do not, Bart, his devouring must end." "Oh yeah, why don't I eat you instead then?" "Tempt me not, brother!" The argument would ultimately come to a head when the child Bart lunged at the child Lisa, biting off a chunk of her elbow. "Why you little...", Lisa responded back by biting the side of his head. The Chef had feared that this day may come. Brought to this world as the embodiment of deliciousness, The Chef had known that he had the power to reveal to others their own deliciousness, a power that would almost certainly lead to their corruption. Transpiring before his very eyes, The Chef watched as the children he had inadvertedly corrupted bit and torn each other to shreds. Only a few minutes could this insidious bout, as both would succumb to their wounds. The Pandora's Box that was The Chef himself had been opened, and he knew now the horrors within had manifested upon the world.


	6. Is None

That day, slowly but eventually, came to an end. The visage now engrained into The Chef's mind of Homer's conceptions laying gluttonous wrath upon each other could never end. Truly, The Chef had endured near-endless amounts of physical anguish in Homer's dungeon, however the mental damage at this point had greatly surpassed it. The remains of the two children had been removed by Homer, conveying only disappointment in his outward emotions. The Chef had half-wondered if they would simply be added to the mysterious foodstuffs Homer fed him three times each day. This was not something The Chef wanted to find out. Yesterday's events had brought him a breaking point he never knew and as such he would accept no more. The Chef was going to escape from this prison himself. The first order of business: come on off of the meat hook. With all the mass that had been accumulated to The Chef over the months, he decided to use it to his advantage and pull down from the hooks. The Chef knew of two outcomes to this, that of the meat hooks tearing through and out of his shoulders, and that in which the hooks are broken off from the ceiling. He would find both theories to be true, for one hook would slice through his arm with the other snapping off. The Chef landed upon the grimy cell floor with a mighty thud. This noise would have certainly been enough to alert Homer, but yet he seemed to be absent from his post. It was now on the next step, in which The Chef would learn to walk again. Slowly after what seemed like an eternity of trying to push himself up, using the walls and even the remaining meat hook for leverage, The Chef had gotten back on his own two feet. He attempted one step, which was received with a great shot of pain from his excess weight, however he was in no mood to simply give up. Two more steps were made and The Chef could now reach the door. Of course Homer had kept this door closed unless the needed something with The Chef, but locking it was of no concern to him as he was under the assumption The Chef could never possibly escape. His folly would become apparent just as The Chef managed to pull open the cell door and emerge from the center of his personally-provided hell.


	7. Other Than

Freedom. It felt all too possible to The Chef and thus he would see to it that this opportunity would not be in vain. While he had managed to regain some of his walking skill, he was not yet back to the capacity of running, a skill that now would prove invaluable to him. Nonetheless The Chef had the fierce determination of leaving this place and so he did what best he could, which was to slowly shuffle across the hallway. There seemed to be only one path he would be able to venture, and ultimately he knew he was bound to come across Homer's main dwelling room. Throughout rows of dim lightning, The Chef noticed one slighty brighter light coming from one of the cells, to which he deduced would be Homer's office. The Chef realized he would have to try to put up a fight upon passing. To his surprise, Homer was there but clearly more horrid shape than he had previously held. Ravioli sauce stains covered his face and shirt as he laid amongst piles of empty cans. Noticing The Chef ambling by, Homer's eyes bulged out in horror. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Homer wanted to give chase, but in his newfound frame he was unable to get up, leaving him only to scream and swat cans around. "COME BACK HERE! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" The Chef made a left from the all-too familiar hallway and found himself facing an upwards flight of stairs. Yet another trial to regain normality, The Chef realized as he took that first step in ascent. "DON'T LEAVE! HOW CAN YOU LEAVE NOW?" Homer's wailing seemed to resonate throughout the entirety of the building. Meanwhile, although not with the err of tripping twice, The Chef had made it up to what appeared to be the building's lobby. It was somehow in this room that Homer's shrieks and thrashes began to sound louder. "RETURN! RETURN AT ONCE! WE ALL NEED YOU! WHY DO YOU ABANDON US LIKE THIS?" The yells were then replaced by that of coughs and chokes, and then all fell silent upon the compound, as if to signal the end of Homer. In some way, The Chef almost felt sorry for the crazed kidnapper, however he was satisfied that his nightmare was at an end, for now he would open the door that would bring him to the outside world and leave Homer to his fate.


	8. Homer J Simpson

It was nearing the late of the afternoon, and the sun was about to set. The street nearby was empty as The Chef would have suspected. In any case there was little else to keep The Chef from leaving this place so he shuffled over to the street, no longer even curious as to check the name and adress of the building. With luck he was able to find himself into the main part of town. His hopes of finding someone to get help were not however fulfilled. There was not the slightest indication of a single person being around. Everything was quiet, with not even a small gust of wind to be heard. No one was talking, no vehicles were driving by, not one dog barking for whatever reason. The Chef resolved to then head over to what should be a more-occupied area of town. Again he would be greeted to desolation. There was no one to be found. It was as if the entire town had been abandoned during The Chef's imprisonment. Yet not one second after this revelation he began to hear a slight voice. The voice got closer to him, indicating a man's scream. The source became closer and louder until it seemed to be coming from high above The Chef. The vocal pitch The Chef could not mistake for anyone other than Homer. His disembodied screams resonated loudly throughout the town, causing some glass to vibrate. Homer's wails traveled off into the other direction. Silence enshrouded the town once more. The Chef could only walk around aimlessly. Some five minutes later, the screams of Homer returned then faded away as quickly as it had left in the first interval. While The Chef had some theories pertaining to what had happened to the denizens of this town he once knew, he had no desire to remain in this place. With that, The Chef begin to walk towards the exit to Sprungfeld and search for a sign of civilization and a chance to begin anew.


End file.
